


Instability

by Cacaphonia



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Crime Fighting, Dorian is a Little Shit, F/M, Hurt John Kennex, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 15:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacaphonia/pseuds/Cacaphonia
Summary: After half a year of observing and trying to get under his skin, Dorian discovers thathishuman is far more vulnerable than he wants others to think.





	1. Coffee for Two

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be a look inside an android's mind and the way they experience the world around them. Most authors show the 'human' side of Dorian. I want to explore the 'machine' one.  
> Rated M for mature themes and John's swearing.

“How come all the bad guys seem to come out at Friday night?” Detective Valerie Stahl complained as she was driving towards the scene of yet another homicide. It was ass o’clock in the middle of the night, she was exhausted after an unending dayshift and dark circles were starting to form under her eyes. Ever since John had managed to get himself hospitalized with multiple stab wounds after a case gone wrong, she’d been handling his cases, on top of her own. The only plus side to this was that Dorian, left without a human for the foreseeable future, was accompanying her on the investigation. He was well-informed and a great help; also his friendly chatter was the only thing keeping her from falling asleep at that moment.

“I know, right?” Dorian piped up from the back seat of the police cruiser. “I had such plans.” He said with a self-depreciating smile. “Like getting a full recharge cycle for a change.” He was leaning forward, head sticking between the two front seats so he could speak with Valery more easily.

The MX unit assigned to detective Stahl chose to remain silent, sitting motionlessly in the passenger seat and staring forward.

“I don’t know how you and John can handle all of this, seriously. Thought I was swamped with cases until I saw _your_ to-do list.”

Dorian chuckled. “I don’t know, either. That guy is a magnet for trouble. Most of the time I’m just getting dragged along.”

“Well, looks like trouble finally found him.” She replied with a weary sigh. “God, I haven’t had some decent sleep in three days. I’d kill for a hot shower right now. My hair is a mess.” Then she glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and pouted. “Shit, are those split ends?!” Then she continued to rant that her favorite hairdresser’s was so far away from her apartment and she usually went there on weekends, but she hadn’t had a weekend to spare in ages.

It was becoming clear to Dorian that this wasn’t a conversation, she just needed to vent at something. A discrete scan at her vitals showed an elevated heartbeat, caused by stress and over caffeinating. Serotonin levels were at an all-time low while adrenalin was elevated. Also, she was in the middle of her menstrual cycle.

“You know what,” the DRN started to interrupt with his soft voice as his face lit up in blue, “there’s a new hair salon open near the precinct with great reviews. I could book you an appointment during your lunch break tomorrow.”

“Oh no no no, D. You don’t have to do that.” Valerie answered, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry for ranting at you like that, just ignore me.”

“It’s _very_ near the precinct.” Dorian went on, ignoring her apology as advised. “Like, you don’t even need your car. You’ll be there in two-point-five minutes walking.”

“Really?” The detective asked, tempted.

“Mmmmhmmm.” The android grinned at her.

“Do you think they could squeeze me in?”

Dorian’s face lit up again for a moment, then he smiled. “Done. Your appointment is at 12.30 tomorrow.”

“Thanks, D! You’re the best!” She turned back in the seat to give him a grateful smile, then returned her gaze to the road.

Dorian chuckled. “You should tell that to John.”

After that she quieted down. Her serotonin levels went a bit higher and she concentrated better at her driving. Female humans were so much easier to handle than males, Dorian mused. They were chatty and actually _told you_ when they were upset or needed something.

There was a sudden ping on his HUD that surprised him. As he redirected his attention to examine it, he found out it was a communication request from the MX unit seated right in front of him. Without showing any outward reaction, he approved the request and opened a com line. Immediately he received a message, written in binary, since there was no need to adapt it for a human interface.

_:: Query: managing appointments falls outside of job specifications. ::_

_:: True. ::_ Dorian replied easily. _:: But managing a human partner falls under mine. ::_

 _:: I was just about to report detective Stahl as unfit for duty before you interfered. ::_ The MX insisted.

_:: Why report an instability when you have the means to mend it? You MXs always want to report everything. ::_

The MX had no answer to that and Dorian could only hope that it would learn something from this conversation.

Valerie turned on the radio. A couple of songs in, she started to hum along, relaxed and enjoying the chance to drive in little to no traffic. Soon her voice became a background noise in the otherwise silent car.

Dorian recalled that her MX was a new one – factory new – still adapting to work at the precinct and the world, in general. The MXs of their department were all connected by an information grid, like a hive mind, that Dorian wasn’t a part of (didn’t _want_ to be a part of). It allowed a constant exchange of information, thanks to which new units were immediately informed about current cases, changes in shifts, technical maintenance and human trivia. To a human, the new units were undistinguishable from the older ones. However, an android could easily tell.

Apparently, no one had told the new guy yet that the resident DRN was a bad influence. Dorian decided to exploit that fact to the fullest. It was a good opportunity to gather information about his temporary replacement human - detective Stahl.

 _:: So, how do you like your first partner? ::_ The chocolate-skinned android probed.

:: I perform my duties to the exact specification. Whether I like it or not is irrelevant. ::

Dorian mended his question. _:: How do you evaluate your team’s performance in comparison with other human-android partnerships in our precinct? ::_

_:: The statistics show above-average productivity. Detective Stahl is a competent investigator with excellent work ethics. So far there have been no conflicts between us. ::_

“Here we are, boys.” Valery announced cheerily as she was parking the car in reverse. “Let’s go get us some baddies.”

They were in the shady part of town, where illegal businesses bloomed, gangs waged their hidden wars and drug lords had their goods sold in the streets. This neighborhood was located near The Wall. That’s why the locals liked to joke that it was literally shady, as The Wall cast its thick shadow on them for most hours of the day.

The scene of the crime was cut-off from traffic with the usual red holo-tape. Investigators were puttering around the area, documenting possible evidence, while reporters were taking photos and trying to sneak close enough for an interview.

The victim seemed to be a senior-aged male. Cause of death – a single shot to the chest.

“Do we have a face rec?” Valery turned to her MX.

“Shiro Sagawa. 63-year-old, Asian. Owner of a sushi restaurant on 46th Street.” The android provided.

She looked up at him in surprise. She had to tilt her head all the way up, as she was almost comically short compared to the 2m high MX standing next to her. “Guess someone didn’t like their sushi.” She replied sarcastically, then turned her attention back to the body. “Maxie, could you hold that for a moment?” She said, then passed her tablet to the android and squatted down to take a closer look at the entry wound.

 _:: She calls you ‘Maxie’. ::_ Dorian teased, trying to hold back a grin. It would have been inappropriate in their current situation.

_:: She always says that MX-43 1098 is a ‘mouthful’. I find that ‘Maxie’ is a good approximation. ::_

_:: I’m sure you do. You know what my human calls me? ‘Nosy jerk’. ::_

_:: It is preferable to some alternatives. ::_ The MX replied. _:: ‘Toaster’, ‘tin can’, ‘piece of junk’, ‘Pinocchio’. ::_ Those were only a few of the ‘endearments’ that John aimed at the MXs.

Dorian definitely understood how detective Stahl could be considered endearing, even to the walking calculators that were the MXs. Any intelligent being, be it mechanical or organic, preferred to be treated with consideration and respect. She was used to working with large, intimidating males all the time and tended to use her charm to her advantage, securing minor favors from them. It worked well for her and even the notoriously aggressive and territorial detective Kennex wasn’t immune to those tactics.

Speaking of which. _:: Do you know that my human likes yours? I mean as a potential mate? ::_ Dorian gossiped. He still held on to the tentative hope that John’s temper would mellow out if he finds a steady sexual partner.

There was a zero-point-two seconds delay before the MX replied. For an android, that counted as hesitation or uncertainty. _:: Detective Stahl goes out of her way to work on detective Kennex’s cases. Her serotonin levels rise considerably in his presence. ::_

Oh, well. One could hope.

“Dorian, could you take a look at that?” Valery drew his attention to the body. “Large entry wound, considerable amount of charring around the edges. A weapon like that can’t be found in any of the _legal_ shops around town. Sound familiar?”

“Yep.” The DRN agreed. “That’s definitely John’s case. Amy Green had the same entry wound as this. A single shot lets the victim bleed out within seconds. We’re thinking it’s the work of a terrorist organization related to the InSyndicate.” Over the last couple of weeks they’ve had several bodies with the same clues – seemingly unimportant people, murdered near The Wall, in plain sight, by a single shot of the same type of illegal weapon. Amy Green had been a member of a small group of refugees from beyond The Wall. She’d just applied for citizenship when her life was taken.

Valerie smiled at him. “I had a hunch this was one of yours. It’s a good thing I brought you along.”

They wrapped things up and headed back to their vehicle.

“Maxie, would you mind driving this time? I can barely hold my eyes open.” Stahl asked sweetly, then parked herself in the passenger seat.

 _:: Aw man! She even lets you drive!? ::_ The DRN complained. _:: Let me switch partners with you! ::_

The MX unit didn’t deem that worthy of a reply. It settled into the driver’s seat without further comment and smoothly pulled the cruiser out of the parking spot.

“And you should make a small stop at that corner café where we went last time.” She instructed. “They make the best French croissants in town. Hey, Dorian?” She turned to look at the other android in the back seat. “Do you think we should get something for John? I doubt that he’s had much of a chance to go shopping with all those stitches.”

“Sure.” He grinned at her.

So they did just that. Then they were on their way back to the precinct, with two packages of steaming hot breakfast. The scent of coffee and warm croissants wafted in the car while Valery napped in the passenger seat, curled up like a kitten.

At that moment Dorian received an incoming call from John’s number. He answered it automatically.

 _“What did you find?”_ John asked instead of a greeting.

 _“It’s three o’clock in the morning, man. Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”_ Dorian chided.

_“No. And since when are my sleeping habits any of your business?”_

_“Doctor says you should get plenty of rest.”_

John groaned at that. _“I’m sick and tired of sitting on my ass, man. Just get me something to work on. At this point even paperwork will do.”_

 _“Paperwork’s all you’re getting at this point.”_ Dorian insisted. _“Okay, so victim’s Shiro Sagawa, I’m forwarding all the info to your e-mail. Basically it’s the same thing with Amy Green over and over again.”_

 _“Do we have any new info on her?”_ His partner asked.

 _“Not yet, but we’ll have it by morning. All of the files are on actual paper since Green is not a citizen.”_ It was common knowledge that the city beyond The Wall was back in the early 20 th century when it came to technological development. Their civil war had hindered any progress and torn their government apart. It was nearly impossible to find any data about the refugees, but somehow detective Paul had managed to pull through. _“I’ll bring them over to your place as soon as I get my hands on them.”_ He promised.

John grunted an acknowledgement.

After a small pause, Dorian changed topic. _“So. Valery’s been asking about you.”_ He teased.

The human groaned. _“I swear to God, D, if you even try to…”_

 _“She bought you breakfast.”_ Dorian wasn’t grinning, but his voice sounded as if he were. There was no point in smiling when there’s no human around to notice.

 _“Why didn’t you stop her. I’m not some kind of a charity case, dammit.”_ John almost growled. By now Dorian had learned this meant his human’s embarrassed.

 _“There’s coffee, in it John.”_ He kept on needling. _“Good old black coffee. None of those creamers and sprinkly ‘bullshit’ that you hate so much. I can smell it from here.”_

 _“…Alright.”_ John finally caved in, then hung up the phone.

The DRN counted it as a win.

The drive went on in complete silence, with Valerie sound asleep and the two androids content to keep their thoughts to themselves.

After a while, MX reached for the car radio and put on some smooth jazz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've planned 4-5 chapters of this, but it could also be read as a one-shot. Feel free to share your thoughts.


	2. Unwelcome Visitor

It was around 7am when Rudy dropped Dorian at John’s apartment complex. He helped him unload all of the boxes of files, then headed home for his day off.

Dorian had never been to John’s home before. He knew the address and had all the access codes, though, as it was customary for all police officers to provide their android with that information, in case of emergencies. The same with the tracking chip, implanted in the skin on the inner side of the arm.

John had gotten signed out of the hospital last night and was supposed to be at home, which the signal of the chip easily confirmed.

One by one, Dorian moved the seven large boxes of papers inside the building’s hallway, then into the elevator and up to the last floor where the apartment was located. He found the door number easily and rang the bell. Nothing happened. After exactly forty-five seconds he tried again. Still nothing.

Puzzled, the DRN scanned the area for any biological signatures. There were two blips in the apartment - one large (human sized); the other much smaller. Both were unmoving.

“John! Open up, man!” He hollered. “I know you’re in there.”  Trying John’s cell number wielded no results, either. Strange, given that they’d just spoken four hours ago and agreed to meet up and discuss work. Dorian briefly entertained the idea that the human could be in a sour mood and wasn’t answering on purpose. “I’ve got coffee!” He yelled again, because a little bribe couldn’t hurt.

The other alternative was that something had gone wrong and his partner was unable to respond. Contemplating the options, he decided it would be better to apologize later than to leave without knowing. So he input the access codes and let himself in.

During his work as a police investigator, Dorian had been inside many human dwellings. Be it a young families’, a senior citizens’, or a student’s hostel; a victim’s, a witness’s, or a criminal’s, each home was fascinatingly different from the others. And you could learn _a lot_ about a human from their habitat.

He was curious. Based on previous experience, he predicted his partner’s home to be gloomy, unkempt and probably littered with half-eaten ramen bowls. He was not expecting the bright, spacious, open-floor apartment that spread out before him. It was a little jarring to find your calculations so off-course; he had to reboot his current processing threads and reassign new values to all of the variables that had taken part in evaluating such an inaccurate prediction. Just when he’d thought he had John all figured out, that man managed to throw him for a loop. Literally.

That done, he looked around and almost had to start another reboot. What he spotted was the source of the second bio signature that had shown up on the scan. There, on the shoe rack at the left side of the front door, was a large, black, scruffy looking cat. It was sitting on one of the shelves, right next to John’s well-worn black combat boots, and staring at him with a single golden eye.

“Well hello there, blip number two.” Dorian said conversationally. A scan revealed that it was male, middle-aged. Some kind of a maine coon mix, but not quite.

The cat glared at him and hissed.

“Yeah, John does that, too.” He stated mildly. “How did you get all the way up here? It’s the fifth floor…” He glanced at the large balcony ahead, at the other side of the living room area. The door was cracked open and he knew there were fire escape stairs somewhere on that façade of the building. That’s where the little critter must have come from, he mused. It kind of looked like a stray. He decided to leave it up to John to get rid of it; his partner would probably be pissed off once he sees it, since he was allergic.

The android took a few steps farther into the apartment and looked for anything amiss. The scans showed nothing but John’s DNA and a few cat hairs. A blue T-shirt that was too-small to be John’s was laid on chair by a rarely-used desk. The DNA on it was so old that it has lost its integrity. Which meant that nobody else had been there in a long time. The place was untidy, but meticulously clean and there were no signs of forced entry or anything of the like.

He passed a bookshelf with actual paper books on it, the kind he’d seen only in elderly people’s houses. Little trinkets littered each and every shelf, among them framed pictures of people that Dorian had never met. He took in each and every one curiously. Facial recognition revealed the first one to be of the late detective Edward Kennex and a younger version of John on a fishing trip. Another showed John and Pelham on their graduation ceremony at the Police Academy. They both had huge, goofy smiles plastered on their faces. The third picture was of a bronze-tanned young woman at a beach that could only be Anna.

Automatically, his processor began to search links between those three people, as if this was some case to be solved. He broke the process, as it was useless – the only thing they had in common was that they were no longer part of John’s life. It was a strange thing, he mused, that bad things didn’t necessarily happen to bad people. That a person who’s generally kind and outgoing could end up alone.

Top shelf was taken up by jars filled with various spices. It seemed like they were just for decoration and no one has actually cooked with them, ever. At the edge of the shelf, away from the jars, was a small trinket that looked like a cactus in a tiny pot. A pink sticky note was glued to the pot, with hand-written words on it that read: ‘Get well soon! From Val :) ’.

Dorian was aware of the cat still staring at him with its one glowing eye, following his every single move as if silently judging. At some point it probably caught a whiff of the cold croissants in the paper bag that he’d brought for John, as it decided to leap off its spot at the shoe rack and come closer. It gave Dorian’s jean-clad leg a cautious sniff, wondering what to make of a being that could move and speak but had no scent.

Dorian went to the kitchen counter and dropped the bag on it, hoping that the cat wouldn’t be able to reach it there. That’s when he caught sight of the colorful box of cat food that was innocuously left by the sink. When he reached to pick it up, the cat let out a deep ‘mrrowww’ sound and immediately curled around his legs.

“Now wait a minute…” He said, finally putting two and two together. “You actually live here, don’t you? You’re _his_ cat.” Exasperated, he said to himself: “John, you lying son of a bitch. You won’t hear the end of this.” He wondered what else had his partner lied about and how had he managed to fool all of the scanners.

The whole apartment was one large hall, separated in sections based on their function. First was the foyer, then the spacious living room, kitchen and dining to the right and what turned out to be a bedroom on the left. There were no walls separating those spaces, letting them all ‘flow’ together into a fluid whole. Dorian finally caught sight of John in the large bedroom alcove, adjoined to the living room section, but completely hidden from the front entrance. The human was unconscious. A scan revealed him to be asleep, curled up in the fetal position that all mammals seemed to favor. He was running a high fever and his breathing was labored; one of the stab wounds, the one at his left shoulder was starting to get infected.

“John?” The android called again, then strode over to the bed. “Wake up, man. You need to go see a doctor, ASAP. John?” He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and tried shaking him awake.

John gasped, startled, and suddenly he was wide awake and twisting away from the unexpected touch. The man let out a bloodcurdling scream and before Dorian could realize what was going on, there was a gun in John’s hands, aimed right at the android’s face. It took only milliseconds to evaluate that a shot from that thing could actually destroy his cortex and end him for good – John was an excellent shot and his gun wasn’t standard issue; it packed enough punch to pierce through the metallic shell of his skull.

Conflicting behavioral protocols collided in his processor. He wasn’t allowed to hurt John. He didn’t want to be destroyed. An MX unit would have quietly accepted its fate, but a DRN had options. His priority tree shifted, pushing self-preservation protocols to the top. Panicked, John squeezed the trigger. Dorian reacted.

An android’s reaction time was unfair compared to a human’s. He grabbed John’s hand and twisted it. The shot went wide and took out a chunk of the ceiling. The man was thrashing as Dorian wrestled his gun-holding arm into the mattress. John’s free hand punched him in the face, but it did no good. Even the strongest human wouldn’t have stood a chance. Then John tried to kick him off and would have succeeded, had the prosthetic leg been on him. Dorian easily pinned his left leg down with just the right amount of force to keep it immobile. Trapped, the human squirmed and yelled until he was left out of breath.

Observing John’s rapid breathing and glazed eyes, Dorian realized that he’d accidentally triggered a panic attack. His partner hadn’t consciously tried to hurt him; he was staring off into his own inner world, completely blind and deaf to everything else. Gently, the DRN pried away the gun from a shivering hand. When he let go of John, the human remained completely subdued, heart fluttering like an injured bird. Never before had Dorian elicited such terror in another being. He didn’t know how to even begin categorizing the feeling. His own emotions were only rudimentary, defined by binary functions and ordered based on priority: like or dislike, true or false, zero or one. His priority tree was currently a mess. He remained motionless, not knowing what to do.

In the end he managed to grasp at a different protocol and push it to the top: providing first aid to trauma victims. It grounded him and gave him a purpose; the rest could be figured out later. With the tone of voice reserved for dealing with scared hostages or little children, he started to speak.

“Hey, buddy…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m so very, very sorry…”

Gently, he pulled the unresisting human into a sitting position and wrapped him into a loose embrace.

“It’s okay, man, everything’s okay. You know I’d never hurt you, right? No one’s gonna hurt you. Just keep breathing. Thaaat’s it, deep breaths, slowly in and out…”

“Everything’s gonna be alright…”


	3. Home Therapy

“Are you out of your freaking mind?!” John raged.

They’d called a doctor to come over and examine him. Said doctor had given him a couple of injections to stop the inflammation and boost healing, then left with a warning to take it easy for the next couple of weeks. Luckily, he hadn’t managed to pull out any of his stitches. The moment they were alone, John had practically exploded.

“Who in their right mind sleeps with a gun, John?” Dorian replied in a much calmer manner.

“My ex tried to murder me, remember?!” The detective snapped back. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

“Tried that. You weren’t picking up your phone.” The DRN countered.

“So you just decide to march into my bedroom like you own the place?!”

“I’ve already said I was sorry. Forgive me for worrying about your health, John. Especially when you’re fresh out of the hospital with stitches all over your stubborn arse. And not answering your phone.” Dorian snapped back.

“How did you even manage to get in here?! Who gave you the codes?!” John kept on interrogating him. He was angry, but there was also an edge of fear in his eyes that Dorian didn’t like at all.

“You did. By putting your signature on the contract that Captain Maldonado gave you when I was assigned as your partner. The one that says the government is loaning out a DRN unit to your precinct, specifically for your protection.”

“…What?”

Dorian mimicked a human sigh to show his exasperation. “You didn’t even read that, did you?”

John put a hand on his nasal bridge and uttered a curse. For a few long moments they were in stalemate. It was Dorian who decided to break the silence.

“John. You know I’d never hurt you.” He stated solemnly.

“I know.” The detective agreed, looking away.

“You had a loaded gun aimed at my head and I still didn’t hurt you. What more proof do you need?”

“I know, damn it! Just… give me a sec.”

They went silent again. But this time it was clear that the man had already blown off his steam and was starting to calm down. As usual, he was quick to anger, but just as quick to forget. Dorian decided that a little distraction at that moment wouldn’t hurt, either.

“You lied to me, John. I’m very disappointed in you.”

John looked up sharply. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“You said you were allergic to cats.”

The human’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion until his mind caught up with the twist in the conversation. Then his hand found his face, stifling a groan.

“How could you lie to me, John? I’m hurt.” The android kept needling, sounding dejected.

“You see, I only say that when you’re trying to guilt trip me into getting one.” He was trying hard not to smile.

“Did you _have to_ get an ugly one, John?”

“Shut the fuck up!” John lost it at that and was actually chuckling. “You’re not much to look at, either.”

 

88888888

 

For some reason John didn’t like wearing his prosthetic at home. Instead he moved around the apartment with a crutch. He was surprisingly quick in spite of it, probably because of the grueling fitness regime that he followed every day.

Dressed in a grey T-shirt and loose black shorts, he made his way to the kitchen counter and poured a glass of water. Then he procured a frighteningly large handful of pills and swallowed them all in one go. The rest of the water he poured into the pot of the tiny cactus that Valerie had gifted him on his first day back at work.

Dorian looked at him curiously and wondered whether he should actually tell him about the cactus, then thought better of it. He made a note to ask Valerie the next time he saw her.

“For some reason this little fucker won’t grow at all…” John grumbled, staring at it with furrowed eyebrows. “I’ve tried moving it all over the house – sunny spots, shady spots, warm or cold, but nothing works.” Shrugging it off, he added: “Oh well. At least I haven’t managed to kill it yet. My therapist was ecstatic.”

“So now you’ve moved on to not-killing cats.” Dorian teased.

The man snorted. “The damn shrink pressured me into it. Said I wasn’t making enough progress and wanted to double my appointments. So I went to the nearest shelter and grabbed the first cat.”

Dorian was smirking at him with that knowing look. “Mmhmm. I’m sure that’s _exactly_ how it went. And the fact that you picked a middle-aged male cat with a permanent disability is a complete coincidence.”

John glared at him. “Not everything has to be a soap opera, D. Get your head out of your ass. I picked an animal that was about to get euthanized anyway. At least its chances are slightly better with me.” He reached for the box of cat food on the counter and gave it a shake. “Hey, Asshole!” He hollered. “Get over here!”

The cat immediately dashed out of its hiding spot from under the desk and was by his side in a second, letting out a deep, growly meow.

The android let out another one of his fake, sorrowful sighs. “You can’t just name your pet ‘Asshole’, John. Animals can understand when you’re being mean to them. You have to think of a _proper_ name. Something that fits its character.”

John gave him an unimpressed look. “Notice how there are no carpets around here? I used to have _lots_ of carpets. Until this little jerk came along. I say ‘Asshole’ fits its character just fine.”

Dorian decided to let it go. After a beat of silence, he asked: “Who was feeding it while you were in the hospital?”

“Nobody.” John admitted. He poured some cat food into a clean plate and placed it on the counter, then tapped his fingers a few times to lure the cat up there, because he didn’t want to crouch to the floor. The cat leapt up on the counter and started munching with a pleased purr. “The little fucker practically takes care of itself when I’m not around. I leave the balcony door open and it goes out to hunt.”

With all of the morning activities done, the topic of conversation finally turned back to work and their current case.

“Back when we spoke on the phone, you said you had some info on Amy Green?” John inquired.

“Yeah.” Dorian agreed. “Not just her, all the other victims as well.”

“That’s great.” The human looked at him expectantly. “…So where is it?”

“Where do you want me to put it?” Dorian asked, which only served to confuse the detective even more.

“On the living room table should be fine.” John answered.

“Oh, I really doubt that table’s going to hold out.”

“What.” John’s eyebrows went as high as they could go.

“Come and see for yourself.” The DRN lead him to the corridor just outside of the apartment. It was cluttered from floor to ceiling with at least half a dozen _huge_ cardboard boxes.

“Are all of those supposed to be filled with files?!” The human asked in disbelief.

“Yep.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed.


	4. Don't Read Like a Robot

Observing the local cat population proved to be very entertaining, Dorian mused from his vantage point at the window in John’s living room. The apartment complex was in direct view of the riverside, with its various fishing boats going up and down the stream. Naturally, the docks were teeming with cats of all shapes and sizes. There were big ones and little ones, orange ones, grey ones, brown ones. Most were a mix of several colors, but each was different in its own way. Some of them liked to laze around in the sun or lick their furry coats. Others were climbers and tried to get in high places. Most would stroll around the docks, looking for leftover fish, or cuddle up to the customers of the local ‘Fish and Chips’ stand.

John’s cat, on the other hand, seemed to like to patrol the area and beat the ever-living shit out of every single animal it encounters. For the second time that day the idyllic landscape was disrupted by hissing and snarling and those high-pitched noises cats made when extremely pissed off.

“John… Your cat is a bit of a bully.” Dorian turned to his partner and complained.

“Yeah, I know.” John replied from where he was sprawled on the couch, burrowed ankle-deep in cardboard folders that were spread all over the floor. He didn’t bother to look up from the file he was reading.

“Aren’t you supposed to do something about it?” The DRN insisted.

John snorted. “As long as it stays out of my hair, it can do whatever the fuck it wants.”

Pouting, Dorian turned back to the window and kept watching. “It only seems to like that white Persian of your neighbor downstairs. They meet up on the balcony and sniff each-other’s noses, it’s really adorable. You should come take a look…” What he was going to say got interrupted by another duet of high-pitched howls. He tilted his head sideways, as if seeing something curios. “Oh… I guess at least _one_ male in this household has a healthy sexual life…” Dorian jibed.

John glared and threw one of the couch cushions at him. It bounced harmlessly off of the android’s back. “Are you going to get any work done or not?!” The human snapped.

“But it’s all on paper!” Dorian complained.

“Gee, I haven’t noticed.” John said sarcastically. “You’ll just have to read it the old-fashioned way like us regular mortals.”

Looking extremely put-off, Dorian sat down in an arm chair and picked a folder. It was so much easier looking up info on the city’s database. The whole research could be done within seconds. But since the people they were looking up weren’t citizens, the city had no info about them. The only source of data available were those cardboard boxes. He flipped the first page open and frowned. The paper was a flimsy material, all yellowed-out and crumpled with age. It took dexterous fingers and carefully-measured strength to handle the pages. Sometimes two pages got stuck together and it was difficult to pull them apart without tearing anything.

As for actually reading the info, that was an entirely different kind of hell. Some letters had ink smears on them. Others were written by hand (or more like someone’s left foot) and difficult to tell apart. The first part of the process of reading was to make a photographic scan of the entire page. Then he had to take each individual symbol and run it through a visual recognition software that tries to match it to any of the known fonts and symbols recorded in his databanks. If there was an 80% match or above, he’d translate the symbol into its binary ASCII code, which was the end product that his processor could actually use in analysis. If a match wasn’t found, he’d leave the letter as a tagged blank space. Later, when the rest of the document was ‘translated’ this way, he’d get back to the blanks and guess their meaning based on context. It was all so tedious and a waste of his processing capabilities.

At the same time, a human’s mind could just look at a symbol and interpret its meaning intuitively. It mattered very little whether said symbol was in an unknown font, hand-written or slightly smeared. For the first time in his short existence, Dorian was feeling useless.

Nevertheless, it was a tedious job for both of them. There was absolutely no order to the files. They ranged from birth certificates, to tax payments, to school yearbooks, to marriage certificates, and so on. Most of them weren’t even about people relevant to the case. John had started making a holographic chart with sections for all of the five victims. Whenever he found something relevant, he’d throw a ‘sticker’ at the chart, so that they wouldn’t need to go over the same thing again. After a couple of hours he was halfway through his first box of files, while Dorian was still learning how to turn pages.

“Don’t sweat it, D.” The human teased. “I’m sure you’ll learn how to read in no time.”

Dorian pouted at him, but didn’t have a sassy comeback. Boredom ensued again.

“Huh. Would you look at the buck teeth on that guy.” John remarked. “He must’ve had some serious dental work done at some point.

The android tilted his head to take a look. It was a copy of the Diploma in Engineering of Michael Hensley, one of the murder victims. Those teeth were really something else. Despite that, the DRN replied: “This is in no way relevant to the case.”

“I know, I know. Just thought it was a little funny.”

Dorian frowned. “It’s not nice to have fun at the dead’s expense.”

John just shrugged at that. “When you get to see half a dozen dead bodies every month, your sense of humor’s bound to get a little dark.”

They worked in relative peace for another quarter of an hour.

Suddenly, Dorian turned towards the window again. His face lit up in blue as he said: “John. Captain Maldonado’s vehicle has just parked before the building.”

The human looked alarmed at that. “Did you tell her I was here?!”

“…Why? Where else would you be?”

“Shit.” The man cursed. “Whatever happens, don’t open that door, you hear me?”

The doorbell rang.

Dorian looked nervously between the human and the door. Back and forth several times. “But…” He started to object.

“Not a word, D.” John ordered.

Dorian actually twitched at that. He couldn’t even begin to explain how much he did _not_ want to obey that. Out in the corridor was the highest ranking human in the whole precinct. His priority tree was telling him to drop everything else and assist her.

The bell rang again. “John, open up!” Her muffled voice sounded through the door. “I know you’re in there.”

“Damn it.” John cursed under his breath and grabbed his crutches, then gingerly started to pull himself off of the couch. It took a while for him to wobble all the way to the door. “Captain,” he said as he opened, putting on his most charming smile, “it’s good to see you. Can I offer you coffee or something?”

“Perhaps some other time, John.” She declined, then got straight to the point. “So today I went to the hospital to visit you. Imagine my surprise when you _weren’t there._ ”

John rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I should’ve told you sooner. I was feeling a lot better, so the doctors discharged me early.”

One of Sandra’s thin eyebrows curled up at that. “Oh, but that’s not what your physician said.” She replied in a dangerously low voice. “What he said is that you’ve been harassing the hospital’s personnel, making a complete ass of yourself and trying to pressure them into discharging you early. The poor girl at reception got into huge problems with her superiors for signing you out. She wanted to make a formal complaint about police malpractice and sexual harassment.”

John snorted at that. “The sexual harassment part is made-up.”

“It doesn’t matter, John!” Sandra raised her voice. “The whole staff is pissed off at you. I had to talk them out of filing complaints. Not only did you abuse your authority, but you’ve created bad publicity for our _entire_ precinct! Do you even realize how much time I wasted trying to…”

“Alright, alright!” John interrupted. He leant a bit at the nearest wall and lifted his hands up in a pacifying gesture (one of them still holding a crutch). “I surrender, don’t shoot.” Sandra rolled her eyes at his antics. “I’ll apologize to the receptionist… write her a letter or something.”

“Make sure to write one to the dean, as well.”

“Consider it done.” The detective grinned at her.

The captain sighed. “All that aside, I hope that you’re doing well.”

“Peachy.” John assured her.

“I’m actually here to steal Dorian from you. We’ve got a few witnesses to interrogate regarding your case.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Since when’re you back to doing footwork?”

“Since you’re on medical leave and Paul and Stahl are already overworked. We’re critically understaffed and I’m not really comfortable with recruiting anyone new at this moment. Besides, I could use a trip out of the office once in a while.”

“If you say so.”

“Are you implying I’m too old to do your job?” She demanded, but there was a playful light in her eyes.

“No, ma’am!” John gave her an obvious once-over and winked at her, at which she chuckled. She knew that he wasn’t flirting for real, but it still put her in a better mood.

“Dorian, are you ready to go?” She asked, but it was more of a polite order. The android obediently came to her side. “And one more thing, John.” Her voice turned serious once again. “I hate to ask this of you while you’re still recovering, however… I cannot stress enough how important it is that you get that paperwork done until Friday. I need to know that I can count on you.”

“Sure, Sandra. Anything you need.” The man nodded solemnly. “It’ll be in your Inbox by Thursday afternoon.”

After that, John sent the two of them off. They headed to the standard-issue police cruiser parked in front of the building. Along the way Dorian made sure to change his behavioral parameters in order to tune them in to interacting with a different partner. Whereas John seemed to thrive on insults and constant sass, the captain was a much more laid-back and dignified person. He had to make sure to act accordingly.

“So what’s our first stop gonna be?” He asked conversationally as he settled into the passenger seat and buckled up.

“We’ll be visiting Inoue Sagawa, the late Shiro Sagawa’s widow.” She replied and pulled the cruiser out of the parking lot.

After a while, the DRN said politely: “Captain, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” He waited for her encouraging nod, then went on: “That whole thing with the cardboard boxes… It was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

A warm smile pulled at her lips. “I had to think of _some_ way to make him stay put for a full week.”

Dorian smirked at that. “Madam, I have to say, I am in awe of your wisdom.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” She said with that motherly voice that was reserved for subordinates she was especially pleased with. “However, flattery won’t get you out of doing said paperwork.”

“No, ma’am!” The DRN assured her and grinned.


	5. Things Go Off With a Bang

The Sagawa family lived in a small residential area near Koln Avenue District. It was built around eight years ago with government funding, in order to house a wave of refugees from the other side of The Wall. Most of the refugees were humble and hard-working people, grateful to the city for granting them the chance to start a new life away from the civil war that has been raging for decades on The Other Side. After being granted citizenship, they’d started their small businesses in Koln Avenue and would diligently pay out their (albeit minor) mortgages. The district had quickly become famous for its exotic restaurants, though that’s not all there was to it. Some of the refugees were highly educated and well-versed in their trade, but didn’t have a city-approved permit to show for their skills. That’s why The City tended to turn a blind eye to their illegal practices, unless some serious case of malpractice occurs.

The houses in this neighborhood were small, but serviceable, very similar to one another in layout and outward appearance. Their inhabitants tended to be old-fashioned and unused to the City’s technological advancements; sometimes even wary of them. The household management systems that controlled every aspect of your living space; the targeted advertisements that seemed to know your every desire; the security systems that followed your every move – it was all too much (and most times financially unaffordable) to a person who’s seemingly spent most of their life in the early 20th century. That’s why their lifestyles were very different from the average citizen’s. Oftentimes it was a cause for prejudice towards their small community.

The Sagawa family had been among the first wave of refugees to cross the border and ask for asylum. After the eldest of their three sons had been recruited to fight in the civil war and found his death on the frontlines, they’d packed as much as they could carry on their backs and left, hoping for the best.

“They wanted to recruit my second-born, too. He was only seventeen back then. He was just a boy…” Inoue, the grief-stricken widow, was telling Sandra and Dorian. After an emotional pause, the tiny Asian woman went on: “That’s when Shiro and I realized that we have nothing left to lose. We haven’t raised our sons to just give them over to this endless war…”

Dorian nodded empathically. That much was already known to him, since it was present in The City’s database. Any info prior to that was foggy and gathered from verbal recollections of the family members. That’s why they were hoping John would dig up something useful from the paper files.

“Mrs. Sagawa, have there been any recent conflicts between your husband and any of the neighbors?” Maldonado asked in a soft voice. She’d abandoned her usual business suit for a pair of comfortable grey jeans and a dark blue shirt. That outfit somehow made her seem much more personable.

“No… not that I can think of.” The woman replied.

“Has there been any tension at work?” The captain prodded further.

“No. This I know for sure. Shiro tended to hire other refugees at the restaurant; help them get back on their feet. Many of them move on to other, more interesting jobs after a while, but they always keep in touch after that. Shiro was a kind man. Everyone in Koln Avenue knows him…” Inoue curled in on herself and let out a quiet sob.

Maldonado regarded her with calm, kind eyes and reached out to take her hand in hers. “We _will_ find out what happened to him. I promise you that justice will be served to whoever did this. Can you think of _anyone_ at all who would mean him harm?”

Shaking her head, the widow sobbed.

During the whole interview Dorian had remained silent, carefully observing the woman’s reactions and monitoring her vitals. When Maldonado turned to him with a questioning look, he nodded at her. Mrs. Sagawa was telling the truth and was genuinely upset. At this point they could cross her name from the list of potential suspects.

Nodding back, Sandra returned to her interrogation and steered it in another direction: “Mrs. Sagawa, I’d like you to tell me more about the staff at your restaurant…”

The conversation went on in the same manner. After a while, the topic changed from the restaurant workers to the neighbors and their occupations, then to Sagawa’s two sons who were already grown up and working elsewhere. Nothing of importance came up, which was all the more puzzling. Why would anyone target the ‘little people’ of The City? There was no financial gain to be had from it. Those people had no hidden money, no shady dealings beyond buying something off the black market once in a while. The old man used to make sushi and that’s that. Dorian could remember John and him visiting that restaurant once. The interior had been nice and John had liked the food.

Suddenly, the android sensed two organic blips approaching the house. He was forced to interrupt the interrogation as politely as he could: “Mrs. Sagawa, does anyone else live in this household?”

“It was just me and Shiro… Our sons moved out years ago.” She regarded him with bright, tearful eyes.

“My scanners tell me there are two men approaching the house. One at the front door, the other at the back. One is around 1.90m tall, the other 1.75.”

“Both of my sons are short, just like me…” Inoue informed him.

“They’re also heavily armed. One of them seems to be trying to break in…” Dorian went on, at which the widow gasped.

Maldonado was immediately on her feet and drawing a gun. “Mrs. Sagawa, I need you to lock up every door and window and stay inside. Don’t make a sound until we give you the all clear. Do you understand?” After the woman’s shaky nod, she turned to the android: “Dorian, we’re heading out.”

“Captain, you’d better stay inside. I can handle this on my own.” Dorian objected.

A scream sounded from somewhere outside, followed by a couple of gunshots. Those were coming from the neighbor’s house across the street.

“I appreciate the chivalry, but that’s unnecessary.” Maldonado countered. “I’ll take the back yard, you head out front.”

Dorian did as ordered without further comment. He left Sagawa in the living room they were currently in and went back down the corridor leading to the foyer. He could hear someone trying to smash their way through the front door. A more close-up scan revealed the man to be wearing a bullet-proof vest, a heavy gun and a few old-fashioned grenades. The android waited for him to enter, gun drawn. The moment the door burst open and the man was in sight, Dorian felled him with a single shot to the head. Just a couple of seconds later he heard a series of shots coming from the back yard. He scanned the porch to make sure it was all clear, then rushed out and headed to the back. Maldonado had already felled her guy and was examining the body, turning it on its back with her foot. “Do you have a face rec on him?” She asked.

Dorian scanned the man’s face, then shook his head ‘no’. “Not a citizen.” He replied.

“Great.” The woman remarked sarcastically.

More shots and screams sounded from the next door neighbors. The two of them readied their guns, but the fence surrounding the property was too high to see anything.

“Dorian, how many?” Maldonado demanded.

“Another two: one up front; one in the back.”

The captain cursed. “Let’s take them out.”

“Do you need a boost over the fence…?” The android started to say, but the slim woman was already leaping and pulling herself over it. He followed suit.

Another series of gunshots, shouting and cursing, then the other property was cleared. Even more screams could be heard from other houses around them. Dorian wondered how many of the residents were already dead. He found the captain taking cover behind a large garden gnome and went to join her. She was reloading her gun. “This is a highly organized assault!” She said. “We have to radio for backup, we’re not prepared to handle this on our own.”

“Can’t.” Dorian frowned. “Signal’s jammed. The whole neighborhood is cut off.”

Maldonado swore under her breath. “Should’ve known better than to take on one of John’s cases. I’m getting too old for this.” She said with a wry smile.

Dorian shrugged and grinned at her. “Just another Saturday afternoon.”

There was some commotion going on at the small plaza outside. “I sense a large group of people. A dozen, maybe more; all heavily armed…” The android said, then a loud, piercing noise interrupted him. Somebody was tuning up a microphone or a loudspeaker.

 _“Traitors of the republic_.” A gravelly voice boomed. _“Justice has finally come for your betrayal.”_

“Oh great.” Maldonado said quietly so that no one but Dorian would hear. “Another brainwashed clown who thinks he’s some kind of a justice warrior.”

The man kept droning on and on about the glory of the republic and some other nonsense. _“Surrender now and return to your rightful government, then all of your errors shall be forgiven. This is your final chance.”_

“That’s not how a republic works, dumbass.” Sandra snapped. “Dorian, how far out is the end of the jammed area?”

“A dozen more houses from here.”

The captain mulled that over for a while. “We need to get to the edge and try again to contact the PD.” After a brief discussion, they agreed to head to the northern side of Koln Avenue, which was closest to the City Centre and where back-up was more likely to come from. They’d need to sneak past the small assault force on the plaza, so they decided to keep moving through the backyards of the properties in order to remain unseen. Both of them holstered their guns; the shots would only serve to give them away.

The houses were almost identical, they observed as they moved past them. The next one over had a single assailant hiding in the back. Maldonado took him out with a taser. The poor family’s white Labrador lay dead on the grass, in a pool of its own blood.

Another house; another gunner. Dorian stalked him quietly, then pounced out of nowhere and snapped his neck without making a single sound. They moved on.

A quarter of an hour later, they’d skulked their way to the end of the neighborhood. They cleared the last property and came out on the street, quickly hiding around the corner in order to remain unseen from the plaza. Police sirens were wailing in the distance; someone had managed to get a call through before them.

Less than thirty seconds later, police cruisers were piling in the boulevard, with officers and MX’s pouring out of every car door. Detective Paul greeted them, wearing full battle gear, as four MX units came out of his vehicle and formed a defensive barrier with their shields and batons.

“Captain!” Paul yelled over the commotion. “What the hell is going on in here? We got several calls about some neighborhood shoot-out.”

“It looks like a terrorist attack.” Maldonado shouted back. “There’s at least twelve of them, maybe as much as thirty. Armed to the teeth and assaulting civilians.”

“Son of a…” Paul cursed, then drew his gun and yelled at the strike force to get ready.

They ordered the MX units to advance. What followed after that was a nightmarish vision filled with chaos, screaming, gunshots and carnage. It was one of those days that Maldonado hoped to forever erase from her memory as soon as it was over. Yeah, someday they’ll be telling the rookies at the precinct about the good old days, tap each-other on the back and exchange congratulations over a job well done. They’ll get there some day, but first they had to survive _this_ hell.

The MXs could handle a lot of damage, Maldonado mused in a detached state of mind as bullets whistled everywhere around them and explosions sounded ahead, while she was safely tucked behind the androids’ shields and backs, providing cover fire as best as she could. Dorian never left her side, guarding her loyally.

The terrorists soon became a disorganized herd of panicked animals. Some of them got shot down. Others got apprehended by MXs. The rest were trying to retreat and take cover, while the androids instructed them to freeze and surrender their weapons. Finally, Maldonado caught sight of the leader – a hulking tall figure, dark-skinned and bald-headed, with a long scar across the side of his face. The man got shot in the leg before he could retreat and dropped down to his knees on the asphalted street.

“Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!” An MX was ordering him. “I repeat, drop your weapons!” With a curse, the man left his gun on the ground. “Put your hands up in the air! You are under arrest…” The android proceeded to list his crimes and read him the rights.

Maldonado took out a pair of handcuffs and rushed ahead. After this whole fiasco, she wanted to have the pleasure of snapping cuffs on the bastard personally. Dorian was instantly next to her, while two of the MXs were already in front of them, coming closer to the man.

Suddenly, the terrorist leader moved to take something out of his jacket.

“Captain, watch out!” Dorian shouted at her. When she turned to look at him, confused, the DRN was already pouncing on her. Her human mind and reflexes weren’t fast enough to react to what was happening. Similarly alarmed, the two MXs moved in front of her, forming a solid barrier between her and the terrorist.

The crook smirked at them as he exclaimed _“For the glory of the republic!!!”_ one last time and set off the grenade in his arms.

Dorian collided with her, his heavy weight knocking the air out of her lungs and shoving her back. His solid frame wrapped around her as they fell to the ground, forming a second layer of defense from the blast.

Ear-splitting noise and fiery heat surrounded them as everything went to hell.


	6. Ceasefire

Taking showers was a lot of work, John thought morosely as he struggled to remove all of the bandages covering his torso. So imagine that you’re trying to wash your hair. So far, so good. However, your whole chest and belly need to stay completely dry, because doctor said not to get the wounds wet. But then everything from the waist below needs to get washed thoroughly. The whole thing was starting to sound like a bad riddle.

And the drugs he was on were pretty damn strong. They were effective at blocking the pain, but messed up his stomach big time. Earlier that morning, after Dorian and Maldonado had left to work, he’d tried some of the croissants that Valerie had brought for him. They were pretty good, but his stomach seemed to push back against every single bite until he finally gave up. Eight hours later the drugs were starting to wear off and he was finally feeling the first tentative pang of hunger. But the pain was back, too. Ugh.

After half an hour, he emerged from the shower squeaky clean and freshly re-bandaged. As he donned on a clean T-shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts, he wondered how the interview with the Sagawa family had gone. He was just contemplating calling Dorian when he saw his cellphone light up with a new message:

_‘I’m in your living room DON’T SHOOT ME._

_\-- Dorian.’_

John rolled his eyes at the uppercase letters. Okay, maybe he deserved that a little, after this morning’s fiasco. He grabbed a crutch and headed out of the bedroom alcove, then immediately spotted the DRN sitting in the same armchair from this morning and reading files. “Why are you back in my house?” He asked instead of a greeting.

Dorian gave him an insulted look. “Well hello to you, too, partner. I’m fine, thanks for asking.” He said sarcastically.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“We still have a case to work on, remember?”

John sighed. “Don’t you need to recharge or something?” He asked half-heartedly and went to the kitchen, where he got his hands on the untouched can of already cold coffee from Valerie.

“Nope.” Dorian replied. “I’m fresh out of Rudy’s lab and at 100%.”

“Here, warm my coffee.” The human shoved the can in his arms and he obliged. “How much battery power does that cost you?” John asked.

“About a quarter of a percent.”

“Great. Now keep doing that for another… four hundred times, until you have to go recharge again.”

The android glared at him and pointedly shoved the can back in his hands. The human took a large sip and hummed with contentment.

“So how did it go?” John finally asked.

“Some guy blew up on me. Scorched half of the synthetic skin off my frame. Rudy had to plant new skin all over my behind and that’s not even the worst of it.” Dorian almost enjoyed the human’s shocked and dumbfounded look. “You haven’t seen the news yet, have you?”

John immediately switched on the TV with a voice command. “Holy shit…” He cursed as footage of the incident played out on every single channel. A reporter’s s drone had managed to take shots of the battle zone from a bird’s point of view. Sandra’s small frame was easy to spot among all of the tall MXs as she dashed past them. He recognized Dorian near her, then Paul further ahead and a few other familiar faces from the bullpen. Smoke and bodies everywhere completed the picture.

Among the whole chaos, Dorian was suddenly leaping at Sandra, shoving her a few steps back and forcing her down to the ground, while the nearest two MXs moved in front of her. One of them took out a bomb shield and snapped it over something. Just a second later the explosion came, the shield’s transparent half-sphere shattered as it couldn’t handle the force and flames erupted everywhere.  John gasped, brows furrowed and eyes drilling into the TV screen.

After the smoke died down, the two MXs were nothing but charred remains on the ground. They had stood their ground valiantly and taken the worst of the blow. A few seconds later a half-burned Dorian dared to move, getting up from his protective crouch over the captain. He pulled her to her feet and ushered her away from the dying flames.

The footage cut off to an interview with Maldonado. Some cheeky editor had dubbed the article: _“Robot Queen of Central PD saves Koln Avenue”_. It showed a still soot-covered Sandra surrounded by eager reporters.

 _“Captain, do you always have such a hands-on approach in dealing with criminals?”_ A female interviewer was saying.

Sandra smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was a cold light in her gaze that John knew very well from the couple of times he’d had it aimed at himself. She was _pissed off_ like a hellcat and someone, somewhere was going to pay for it. _“I assure you, my team and I take the security of this city very seriously.”_ She replied. Never miss a chance for some good publicity, right?

 _“Is the civil war coming to our side of The Wall?”_ Another reporter hurried to cut in.

 _“We will do everything within our power to keep this from happening.”_ The Captain said solemnly. She urged for military involvement and The City’s border defenses to be strengthened. The gaggle of paparazzi started shouting over one-another at that.

“Damn.” John said. “Poor Sandra’s getting crucified out there…”

The next interview was with some military official. He declared that The City’s borders will be closed and heavily guarded until the terrorists were dealt with. Nobody was allowed in or out of the city for the foreseeable future. All trade was to be cut off as well. Armed guards would be assigned to patrol The Wall, as well as Koln Avenue, at all times.

The report ended with interviews of some of Koln Avenue’s residents. Mrs. Sagawa was among them, thanking _‘that brave captain and her very kind robot’_ for protecting her during the attack. Dorian couldn’t help but brighten up at that.

“Looks like all the chicks dig you, D.” His partner teased. “Mrs. Sagawa’s at least sixty years old, but it still counts.” He shut down the TV as he felt a headache starting to creep up on him. That was a hell of a lot to take in. Slowly, gingerly, he planted himself on the couch and rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn. I sure am glad I got to sit this one out. Paperwork’s sure looking good right now.”

“Mmhmmm.” Dorian agreed.

It occurred to John that his android’s had a pretty shitty day. From getting shot at in the morning, to explosions in the afternoon, then repairs in the early evening at Rudy’s lab. Usually, when a case goes _that_ bad, the two of them would go out to a bar. John would drink a few beers, Dorian would watch him, and they’d call a temporary ceasefire on the constant sass to lick their wounds in companionable silence.

And now that John was stuck at home and unable to work on this case, the stupidly emotional bucket of bolts was still seeking out his company after a day gone bad. It could be seen as endearing, if one was inclined that way.

“Damn, man.” The detective ended up saying. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, John, good as new.” The android replied solemnly, then smiled. “But thanks for asking.”

And there it was. That companionable silence.

John sighed. Alright, Dorian could stay at his house for as long as he liked. But just this once.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t live to regret it.


	7. My Home, My Fortress

“I’m going out for a bit.” John grumped and grabbed his wallet.

Dorian let out an exaggerated sigh and replied without looking up from the file he was reading: “Get your bandaged ass back on the couch, man. It’s 1am.” They’d spent the last couple of hours reading paper files in relative silence. This time Dorian was prepared, though. Back at the lab, Rudy helped him upload more than two thousand fonts of the most atrocious handwriting they could find.

“Fuck off. I’m getting stir-crazy sitting around here.” The detective hissed at him. He was already at the door and fumbling with its lock, with a crutch held in each hand. Over the last half an hour he’d progressively become more twitchy and irritable for no apparent reason. Puzzled, Dorian sent a discrete scan his way. It showed erratic breathing, a quickened heartbeat and fluctuating levels of endorphin. The human was in pain.

“If you need something, I could always make a shopping trip for you.”  Dorian said carefully. “You’ll just have to be real specific, because I don’t know the first thing about food or meds.”

“A pack of cigars would be a good start.”

The DRN frowned. “Since when do you smoke?”

“Since I’m on antibiotics and not allowed to drink.”

Dorian gave him a pointed look. “Speaking of antibiotics, when was the last time you took your meds?” The beat of silence was answer enough. “John…” Dorian started to say in a mildly threatening voice.

“You…” John whirled back to growl at him. “…do _not_ get to order me around. _Piss off_ and mind your own fucking business!” Then he returned to fumbling with the door controls. That’s when Dorian noticed that his hands were shaking something fierce.

The DRN frowned. Now that was harsh, even for his partner. Where was all of this coming from? Just an hour ago everything seemed to be fine, then all of a sudden they were at each-other’s throats for no reason. Perplexed, he stood up from the armchair and silently made his way to the foyer. John had just managed to pull the door open when the android placed his right hand on it and slammed it back shut.

“Hey! What the fucking hell…” John tried pulling on the handle, but the android wouldn’t budge.

Dorian’s free hand reached for him. It took a moment to scan for a spot on John’s frame that wasn’t hurt and covered in bandages. The DRN ended up placing his palm on the detective’s left shoulder and side of the chest, then gave a slow, but firm push until John’s back was pinned against the wall.

“Back off!” The human hissed and tried to squirm away, but Dorian shushed him and blocked the escape attempt. His face lit up in blue as he ran a more close-up, thorough scan. Elevated heartbeat, check. Pupils slightly out of focus. Muscles tense and shivering. Skin pale and damp. Violent mood swings. All of this was starting to look like a mild anxiety attack.

Dorian’s frown deepened. What was this all about? He’d never seen John like that before. It was jarring. Yes, he’d read the man’s file and knew he was far from a clean bill of mental health, but it was the first time he was seeing those issues in person. The two of them have been working closely for half a year now and something like this has never happened. He’d seen John keep his cool when shit hits the fan on numerous occasions. Heck, his partner had kept a level head even when that hacker strapped an explosive collar around his neck. And now, over the last twenty-four hours he was having not one, but _two_ panic attacks in a roll. This wasn’t right.

“John.” The android pinned him with those ghostly blue eyes and started speaking in a soft voice. “I need you to calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

“God… I can’t breathe…” The man was hyperventilating. “I need to get out… Let me out, damn it… There’s no air in here…”

“There’s plenty of air in this space. Trust me, I checked.” The android assured him calmly. “You’re the one who sucks at breathing. Try to make your breaths _deep_ and slow.”

“You don’t understand… I have to get _out_ …”

“Going for a stroll at this time of night is just begging to get yourself mugged.” Dorian tried to reason with him. “Can you count how many murder cases we’ve worked on that started just like that?” He began listing names of victims in a slow and steady manner, hoping to distract the other. John’s eyes finally met his own and his attention focused as he remembered each of those cases. Ironic how talking about murders actually served to calm him down.

It took the DRN quite a while to run out of names, by which time the panic attack was already easing its grip. He let a beat of silence pass, then said: “I wish you’d just _tell me_ when something’s wrong, man. It is my job to protect you and you’re making it a hell of a lot more difficult than necessary.”

“What do you even care?! This is just a job for you.” The detective snapped.

“It is my _main_ function. Without it, I am useless. You already know that.” Before his partner had a chance to add another hateful retort, he went on. “I don’t mind doing it, though. You’re a good man and your work does a lot of good for this community. So even if it means weathering bullets and your abuse, I don’t mind.”

John’s mouth snapped shut and he looked away. His heart made a small flutter before he said in a small voice: “…Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Dorian answered kindly. “Why don’t you take a seat,” he finally stepped aside and gestured at the couch, “and I’ll get you your meds.”

For once in his life, the detective did as told and carefully lowered himself on the couch, letting out a pained exhale when the stitches started to pull at the movement. He frowned when Dorian deposited all three boxes of pills and a glass of water on the table in front of him.

“Bottoms up.” The DRN urged.

“They make me dizzy…” John started to object, but was immediately cut off.

“Man, if you won’t take care of yourself, then I’m driving you back to the hospital.”

“…Bastard.” He retorted, but without any heat. He took out the necessary amount of pills and swallowed them without further complaint.

Dorian knew that this was a manipulative move – John obviously had some traumatic memories associated with hospitals and the loss of a limb – but in this case felt it was necessary. “Sandra is worried about you, you know.” He said. As his only close friend, mentioning her name always seemed to have an impact on the stubborn human. “She really needs you back on your feet and by her side again; especially after the Koln Avenue fiasco. At least make an effort for her sake.”

John gave him a small nod, then looked away. He grabbed another folder from a box on the floor and pretended to read it, in order to escape from the conversation. Dorian let him be and did the same, while throwing another brief scan his way. A cop’s health insurance afforded some top-notch meds, he mused, as the painkillers were already starting to take effect. The detective let out a small exhale as one by one, tense muscles finally relaxed.

Sometime later, a small shadow slipped through the balcony door and crept across the living room to leap on a couch cushion. “Mrrroww.” The large cat announced its presence and came at John’s side to bump its head into his stubbly chin. “Hey, you jerk.” He greeted back with a small, tired smile. “The hell have you been?” His fingers dug roughly into the thick, scruffy fur to scratch at the animal’s neck. Against his will, his heart rate eased a little more.

Seems like everything was going back to normal, Dorian observed. For now.

The android swept another scan over the nice apartment; noted the soft lighting, the panoramic view of the riverside and the docks, the comfortable layout, the stylish furniture, the cleanliness and overall good upkeep of everything. On one hand there were things like John’s gym equipment – well-used and haphazardly thrown around. On the other hand, there were things like the jars of spices and other trinkets that were neatly ordered and looked completely unused. A keen eye would notice that the two things clashed together and did not make much sense. Had he been human, perhaps Dorian would’ve been able to pinpoint why.

John seemed overly attached to his work; he worked almost non-stop and spent his whole spare time outside, in restaurants or bars. Which meant he mainly came here to sleep. But now the injury was forcing him to stay here for long periods of time and for some reason it was making his psyche unstable.

Something in this seemingly innocuous habitat was restarting the panic attacks.

And Dorian had a hunch that John wasn’t about to tell him why.


	8. Stuck In a Loop

Dorian was starting to get the hang of “reading” the human way. With the new software update that Rudy installed, visual recognition of symbols was going a lot smoother than before. His fingers got a hang of handling the flimsy paper pages without tearing them up, too. Soon he managed a steady rhythm of ‘open file – flip page – scan – flip page – scan – close file – get new file’. He’d already gone through half a box and was quickly gaining up on John’s two.

The whole thing was tedious and hardly took up ten percent of his processing power. And the paperwork itself was redundant at this point. They already knew all they needed to know about the victims – those people were refugees who’d at some point in their life applied for citizenship. That was reason enough for the terrorists to target them and make a statement at their expense. What they needed to find out was who was leading the organization and what their real motive was. It was highly unlikely that those answers lay within one of the boxes, but Dorian wasn’t about to admit that to John. Helping out with the paperwork was a convenient excuse to stick around and keep an eye on the man.

That still left him with ninety percent of free processing power that had nothing to do. Usually, annoying John took up another twenty percent - it was the bare minimum needed for running the colloquial subroutines, analyzing a person’s reactions and generating an emotive response. But right now he was giving the man a reprieve. So, to put it simply, he was bored.

As a police bot, his function was to gather, sift through and analyze large quantities of data. He was made to be inquisitive and observant to help that process along; his appearance was of mixed racial traits and average build that statistically appealed to most humans; his voice was smooth and soothing, which put witnesses at ease and made them more willing to share potentially valuable information. A constant online connection to the PD and various other networks kept the data flowing through and from. But right now he had no current tasks from the department to occupy his thoughts.

Come to think of it, he probably should have gone back to the police station by now. They could put him to better use there. But for some reason he found himself reluctant to leave and Maldonado had yet to give the order. There was a minor error in his priority tree that he didn’t care to examine at this point.

John had quieted down after the panic attack, but hadn’t gone to sleep yet. It was almost two am by now and the man was still sifting through piles of documents. He hadn’t spoken a word yet.

An erratic sleep schedule could be another symptom of anxiety disorder, Dorian mused. With nothing else to do, his full attention shifted back to his partner. He briefly entertained the idea of connecting to the electronic house management system of this building. It was an AI that regulated all of the electronic devices of the apartment complex – from security systems such as cameras in hallways, fire alarms, auto locks; to lighting control in every room, personal devices such as TVs, laptops, and lately even some newer models of refrigerators that could inform you what’s on sale at the local supermarket. He already knew that John’s eating habits were a disaster, but his browsing history would probably provide an endless source of entertainment…

The AI denied him access. When Dorian tried again, it informed him that he’s not a resident of the building. The DRN tried to make a fake registration. The AI prompted him to provide a contract for property ownership or rent. Access denied. Then he tried a more forceful approach, but the computer program snapped at him and treated him like a software virus. Dorian quickly pulled away before the AI would compile a report about a hacking attempt and send it to John’s inbox. The security of this place was damn good.

The DRN had to take a more slow and roundabout approach to this. Instead of attacking the global controls like that, he could sneak in through one of the already existing accounts. First step would be to hack into John’s account. That shouldn’t be too hard. Knowing his partner, the password would probably be _‘back_off_4sshole’_ or something like that. Step two: make a ‘clone’ of the account and convince the AI that both accounts are valid, since they both contain completely valid paperwork. Step three: personalize his brand new account and get access to everything. Dorian swiftly compiled an algorithm that would accomplish all of those steps and let it play out in the back of his mind. This should take another three hours, at least, and would keep another twenty percent of his processor occupied. Hopefully, once he gains access, he’d be able to gather more info about John’s recent erratic behavior.

His attention returned to his surroundings and the small inconsistencies he was starting to notice. He zeroed in on that blue shirt he’d observed earlier that morning. It was half-folded and placed on a chair that John never sat on, at a desk that John never used. There were traces of DNA on it, but the samples were too old and corrupted to make sense of. The shirt was too small to be John’s and in a ‘baby blue’ color that was considered feminine or childish. As far as Dorian knew, John didn’t have any children. The displaced piece of clothing had piqued his interest from the start.

“Sooo. How’s the online dating site working out for you?” Dorian decided to take a shot in the dark.

John groaned. “Jesus Christ, not this again…”

“And since when are you religious.” The android asked rhetorically.

“You know what,” John pointed a finger at him, “your kind should come with a warning. Once you get a DRN, you never get any privacy ever again. It even sounds catchy, they should put it in a commercial or something.”

“I know your profile’s been getting lots of hits.” Dorian prompted as if he hadn’t heard him at all.

“…Why are you in my house again?” John asked for the third time that day, but without any heat. It didn’t escape Dorian’s notice that for all of his grumpiness, the man had yet to actually order him to leave. He was taking full advantage of that fact.

“Come on man, don’t be like that.” The android gave his most winning smile. “You can tell me all the juicy gossip.”

John snorted. “There’s nothing to tell. Peg leg, remember? Chicks don’t really dig that. And if I found one that did… Well, frankly, I’d be worried.”

“That’s bullshit, man, and you know it.” Dorian countered. “I’ve seen plenty of ladies give you interested looks at that bar you like so much. You’re just giving yourself excuses.” He could practically feel John’s hackles rising at that one. Just a little bit more…

“Now wait a fucking minute, where’s all of this coming from?” The man started to get up, feeling cornered and unconsciously trying to gain a higher ground in the confrontation. “First off, you have no fucking business messing with my…”

“I’ve seen detective Stahl give you interested looks.” Dorian remarked, which effectively cut the tirade off.

His partner’s jaw snapped shut for a moment, then he growled: “You stay out of this.” He was embarrassed.

“So I’ve been wondering about that little blue shirt over there.” The DRN nodded at the incriminating piece of clothing. “I say, it seems exactly her size…”

Suddenly, the temperature in the room seemed to drop by a hundred degrees. John’s face paled at the question. His jaw set at an angry angle as his teeth clenched. His eyes turned cold and almost feral as they bore into Dorian’s with an unexpected amount of rage. When he finally spoke, he uttered only two words, in a hiss through gritted teeth: _“Get out.”_

“It was a simple question, man.” Doran said innocently. He was anything but.

“For once in your fucking life, can’t you just _LET SOMETHING GO_?!” John roared at him. _“Get. The hell. OUT!!!”_ With that, the man took his crutches and stormed off to the balcony, then slammed the door shut.

Dorian was left alone in the ringing silence of the living room. Wow. For some reason, that really hit a nerve. But it also meant that he was on to something. He just needed to change tactics. John was usually quick to anger, but just as quick to run out of steam. So he waited patiently, sitting in the armchair and counting backwards from one thousand. Then got up and followed John out on the balcony.

There was a coffee table with two chairs outside, facing the docks, the willows and the clear night sky. John was settled into one of them and a bottle of bourbon had magically appeared by his side. The man bristled at Dorian’s presence, but pointedly ignored him and kept staring off at the riverside.

The android settled into the other chair and leveled a calm, studying look at him. After a while, he said: “It’s _Ana’s_ , isn’t it?”

“No.” The human grouched at him. Boy, that son of a bitch could lie. There wasn’t a single blip out of the ordinary on Dorian’s scans to indicate a lie, yet there it was.

“But why, man? Why would you hold on to something like this?” Dorian asked softly, voice held barely above a whisper. It was truly bizarre.

John didn’t answer that, pointedly staring off into the distance.

“There are other things, too, aren’t there?” The DRN kept prodding. “The books. All of those small trinkets…”

A beat of silence passed.

“She liked to travel.” John finally spoke, quietly. “Those are souvenirs. And the books… she was a bit old-fashioned like that. Should’ve realized sooner she wasn’t from around here…” He probably meant The City.

“And the jars with spices…?” Dorian guessed.

His partner snorted. “I haven’t cooked anything in my entire life.”

The DRN shook his head. “Why would you hold on to all of this shit?” He asked, genuinely trying to comprehend.

Silence. The only sound around them came from the wind combing through the crowns of the trees before them. But that was okay. He could wait.

It was another ten minutes later when John finally spoke again. “Do you know that I was diagnosed with OCD?”

The android frowned. “Actually, I’ve been wondering about that. I’ve seen it on your file, but you don’t really act the part.”

John chuckled bitterly. “Figured you’d know.” He let another bit of silence pass before he went on. “When Ana… disappeared, she left all of her belongings behind. When I came out of the hospital, freshly out of a coma and rehab, the apartment was left exactly the way it is now. I haven’t changed or moved a single thing in those six months since then.”

Dorian mulled that over for a bit. “Isn’t that sort of… unhealthy?” He finally asked.

John snorted. “That’s what my therapist keeps saying.”

“Well why don’t you just throw all that stuff away? You should donate it to charity or something.” He had a feeling that this conversation was getting out of his depth.

“That sounds like a reasonable thing to do, yeah.” The human tried to explain patiently. “And yet… it turns out, it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

Dorian thought the words over. He was starting to understand a little bit, or so he thought. Not relate, because there was no way in the world he could relate to something like that, but somehow understand. This place looked like a home, but was no longer one. It had become the trigger of an obsessive compulsion of its one inhabitant left, who was stuck keeping everything in ‘perfect’ condition according to the obsession, performing mindless tasks over and over again. It was like being stuck in a loop.

Loops were a painful thing for a robot, he thought offhandedly. They caused processor overloads and crashes that were hard to fix. Dorian had suffered a loop once, after a software update gone bad, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. The only way to prevent the crash was to cut off all processes at once, which could be difficult to do without a forced reboot. Could a human go through something similar? He needed more info.

“And what do you think is stopping you?” He ended up asking.

John sighed. “I guess I never got any closure. It just never quite sunk in that she’s gone for good. I don’t know where she is, why she did it and if she’s even alive at all. The whole thing still doesn’t make any sense.” He finished off the glass of bourbon and poured another. For once, Dorian didn’t reprimand him about it. It seemed to loosen his tongue as he kept on speaking. “We bought this apartment together, you know. I’d just inherited some money after my father’s death and she had some savings of her own. We spent months choosing it, then planning the interior and everything. Half of it still belongs to her.” Another large gulp of bourbon, then he went on: “On some days I wake up and still expect her to be here; to walk through the front door with some crazy story about why she’s been gone. Other times I come back from work late at night and get a creeping feeling that someone’s been moving her stuff around, that they’re out of place…”

Dorian frowned. This sounded almost delusional. The woman was a terrorist, a killer, a fraud. There was proof that her id had been falsified, meaning that ‘Ana’ wasn’t even her real name. Even if she had a contract proving that she owned half of the apartment, it wouldn’t hold much worth in court.

“You can’t possibly _want her_ to come back, John.” The DRN said sharply. “After everything that she’s done?”

“But what if she was coerced into doing it?” His partner retorted. “What if she was brainwashed or threatened?”

“And she wouldn’t at least _try_ to let you know somehow? To ask for help? Man, just listen to yourself.”

“You _can’t_ know that for sure!”

Dorian shook his head. This was crazy and needed to stop. If that therapist didn’t have the guts to say what needs saying, then someone else had to. “So what if she decides to come back, John? Then what? Are you going to keep playing house together? Will you keep sleeping with a gun under your pillow as she lies in bed with you?”

John flinched at that and leapt out of the chair. The thin-walled glass of bourbon shattered in his grip, sending shards to the ground as the human turned to glare at him. That remark had cut all the way to the bone.

_“You damn machine!!!”_ The man yelled at him. “What do you even know?! _You know nothing!!!_ You can’t even begin to understand…”

“Are you going to forgive her about you squad, John? Their death lies on her shoulders, not yours.”

“Shut up!!!” His partner roared. It echoed in the quiet night.

“Are you going to forgive her about Pelham, too?” Dorian went on, calm and completely unfazed.

“Shut the fuck up before I make you…!!!” John was still shouting.

“Will you forgive her about the leg?” The DRN hammered the final nail in the coffin, his pale blue eyes looking up at him calmly.

The human let out an incoherent growl and retreated back inside the apartment before things could escalate further. Dorian started another countdown from one thousand. He knew that he’d gone too far, yet somehow felt that it needed to be done. Had any of John’s close friends been alive right now, they probably would have told him those things sooner or later. Now he just had to wait and see what happens.

He could hear John cursing from somewhere inside. A loud crash followed, then another. The sound of glass breaking. Rummaging, then things falling to the ground. More curses. Another crash, quieter this time. It all went on for about ten minutes, then everything went quiet for a while. Dorian kept counting. Only 336 seconds left. He wondered if he’d pushed too many buttons all at once. Perhaps he should’ve used a more gentle approach, but John didn’t do gentle. He wanted someone to fight with, constantly, to lash out at without repercussions. Wary, the android scanned the interior and wondered whether he should get inside and see what’s going on.

In that very moment John reemerged through the balcony door, dragging a large cardboard box. It was one of the boxes from the paper files. It looked heavy and he struggled with it, somehow stumbling through the door with the crutches and stubbornly managed to maneuver it to the opposite side of the balcony. Dorian sat quietly, not daring to say another word. The box was filled to the top with various stuff – he immediately noticed the shattered remains of the jars with the spices. And there was that blue shirt that had started this whole mess, among other feminine clothes. The books were there, too; the souvenirs; make up and jewelry. Right on top was the picture frame, showing Ana herself on a beach, smiling.

Oh, boy. Dorian looked up at his partner, mildly alarmed.

John paid him no mind. He reached for the bourbon and poured half the bottle’s contents all over the box. Then he took a lighter out of a pocket and lit it up. “Good fucking riddance, you evil _bitch_.” He hissed, then set the whole thing on fire.

They spent the rest of the night in silence, sitting on the balcony and watching the bonfire. John finished up the rest of the bourbon directly from the bottle.

And if there were tears streaming down his face, none of them would breathe a word about it to a living soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a favorite song of mine that set my writing mood for this chapter:  
> Of Monsters And Men - "Six Weeks"  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	9. Sunday Morning

The doorbell rang.

Dorian went to get it.

After last night, the apartment looked like a battlefield. He maneuvered carefully through shards of glass and piles of John’s belongings left scattered around the floor after the man had emptied every shelf and cupboard to throw out Ana’s stuff. John himself had managed to drink himself to sleep at around 5am and had yet to sleep off all that bourbon. It was 8.15am at the moment and Dorian was keeping quiet for his sake. The sound of the doorbell seemed deafening as it pierced the silence.

Detective Paul and an MX unit waited on the other side of the door, the android holding another two cardboard boxes stacked one on top of the other, while Paul had none. The detective gave Dorian a surprised look. “Since when do _you_ live here?” He asked instead of a greeting.

“I don’t.” The DRN answered curtly and moved to block the view of the interior.

Paul lifted an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment further. “Anyway, we brought some more files for John to search through.” He said, nodding at the boxes. “These are about the three terrorist members that we’ve managed to apprehend yesterday. So he should put priority on those.”

Nodding, Dorian took said boxes from the MX and placed them on the floor in the foyer. “Have you interrogated them yet?” He asked.

“Yeah.” The short man frowned. “Those bastards are completely brainwashed, spewing bullshit about their ‘glorious cause’ left and right. We found microchips surgically implanted into their brains. Rudy thinks those are meant to generate mild electromagnetic currents that tamper with neural pathways. He’s still looking into it, but suggests the men might be mind-controlled.”

The DRN frowned deeply. “This case keeps getting uglier the deeper we dig.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Paul agreed. It was a rare thing. “So, how’s that asshole doing?”

Dorian blinked at him. “Do you mean human or cat?” He asked for clarification.

“Huh?” It was the detective’s turn to look puzzled. Looking down, he met the suspicious one-eyed stare of the black cat, sitting in its favorite spot on the shoe rack. It glared at him and hissed, just for good measure. Paul shook his head. “I _really_ don’t wanna know. Anyway, I’d love to stay and help with paperwork, but I really don’t want to, so…” He gestured at the MX to follow him and they went on their way.

Dorian picked up the boxes again and moved them over to the kitchen counter, because that was the one place with enough room for them. Seeing him head that way, the cat lept off the shoe rack and followed. It curled its lithe body around his shins and meowed pleadingly. Dorian chuckled. “You’re only nice when you want food.” He remarked, but still pulled out a clean bowl and poured some granules in it. The animal chowed down happily.

After that, the DRN grabbed a handful of files and got down to business. He cleared some room on the holographic chart and added three more slots for the terrorists. Then added their names and a photo for each. Having done that, he settled into his preferred armchair and started reading.

It was three hours later when John finally stirred. “Mornin’.” The man muttered as he made his groggy way to the kitchen counter and set to make some coffee. Dorian acknowledged him with a nod and kept on reading. His partner poured himself a large cup and inhaled it all in one go, despite it being steaming hot. Throwing a resigned look at the chaos all around him, he skipped breakfast entirely and got started on putting everything back in its place.

Dorian paid him no mind, leaving him to finish up exorcising the demons from his home. For the next several hours each did their own thing in peace. John went through every cupboard and shelf, meticulously putting everything back to order. Every shard of glass was swept from the floor, each trinket found its new, different place, every grain of dust was meticulously swiped away.

“D, give me a hand with those.” John asked toward the end.

Dorian dropped what he was doing and got up. He took the pieces of furniture that were left without use and carried them outside in the hallway, where later John would have someone take them away. At the moment the man just wanted them out of his sight. Ana’s desk and shelves around it were all taken out, which left a visible gap in the interior. After some thought, John shifted the other furniture around a bit and  placed some of his gym equipment at that spot so that it wouldn’t seem empty and unnatural. The apartment started to look livable again – different and even more spacious than before, but in a good way.

In the meantime, Dorian put all the paper files back in order so that they weren’t lying around all over the couch and living room floor. He took some time trying to figure out which file belonged to what box, then completely gave up on it and just threw them back in without further thought. Only the newest ones he set aside.

After all that was done, they took a seat in the now tidy living room.

“How are you feeling?” Dorian asked.

“Better, actually.” His partner admitted. He took in a deep, slow breath. “I should’ve done that ages ago. Feels like I can breathe again.”

It had only been one day since John was discharged from the hospital, yet with the panic attacks and shit hitting the fan in Koln Avenue and the long, _long_ night after that, it already felt like a whole week had passed. The two of them reached a silent agreement to never speak of this Saturday ever again.


	10. Intuitive Thinking

It was around noon when Dorian got an alert on his HUD. The algorithm that he’d set aside last night was successfully finished and now he had his own account as a resident, which provided access to all features of the apartment complex. Very pleased with himself, he immediately tried it out. He started tinkering with the lights in the kitchen area while John wasn’t looking, gradually turning them on from darkest to brightest setting, then switching them back off. Cool. The fridge had one of those features where it showed current discounts at stores in your area; the commercials were silent, but going non-stop. He switched them from groceries to a new optical upgrade for DRN models. Hopefully, John would get a clue and talk to Maldonado about commissioning said upgrade for him.

Sadly, John had wiped all browsing history completely clean from his PC, like the good old paranoid cop that he was. That could’ve been entertaining.

From there, the DRN’s attention expanded outside the apartment, to the common corridors, lighting on the stairs, fire alarms, elevator controls and its single security camera placed in the cabin. When everything checked out his inspection, he spread out through the lower floors, to the two cameras at the front and back entrance of the building, then to the automatic barrier in the parking lot outside. That’s as far as the AI house manager could reach. Feeling pleased, the DRN rooted himself deep into the electronic system and made himself comfortable. He set aside ten percent of processing power to monitor all of the building’s sensors, which would keep him well informed about anyone going in and out of the property. The only sensors he could access from neighboring apartments were connected to electronic devices, which gave him a general idea of what device was used when and how much electricity does it consume. It wasn’t very useful to know that, but that’s okay. He’d already made a background check on all of the residents and was pleased to find out none of them had a criminal record.

“You’re up to something.” John accused out of nowhere. The man had been taking a small break from the paperwork and drinking a second cup of coffee on the balcony. At the moment he was standing in the middle of the living room area, aiming a suspicious look at him.

Dorian’s left eyebrow lifted at that. “Like what?” He asked innocently. He’d been sitting in the same arm chair, reading files for the last ten hours.

“I don’t know what, but you’re doing that thing again.” His partner glared.

“Thing? I do many ‘things’, John. You’ll have to be a little more specific than that.” The android kept playing dumb, with a big smirk plastered on his face.

The human actually let out a frustrated growl at that. “…You’re quiet!” He snapped. That’s all he really had to go on.

Dorian faked a dramatic sigh. “You get mad when I speak. You get mad when I’m quiet. Make up your goddamn mind, man.”

His partner huffed and looked away. It was a curious thing, Dorian mused. John’s senses had absolutely no way to perceive what was going on without logging online to demand a full systems check of the AI manager. Yet here he was, puttering around the place, searching for that unperceivable change in his habitat that was out of his control. The android had observed such behavior in many of the humans he’d encountered on various cases. Humans could sometimes extrapolate on _no data_ at all and leap to a conclusion, without going through a process of analysis. They called that intuition, or instinct. The conclusions weren’t always _right_ , per se, but it was still interesting to watch. It was a process that androids could neither use nor comprehend and any existing ‘scientific’ explanations about it were vague and tended to delve into spiritualism at some point.

John’s intuition tended to hit the bullseye more often than not, though, which was even more curious. He was no Maya Vaughn, of course, but still. There had been a couple of cases where John had developed an instant dislike of a person or a given situation, without really providing an explanation why. Dorian had learned the hard way not to ignore those hunches, as John had turned out right in both cases and later shit had hit the fan rather spectacularly. That’s why the DRN had started noting his partner’s off-key observations in a separate variable, which he took into account in his decision-making algorithms.

“Did _you_ do that!?” John ended up pointing an accusatory finger at the fridge, which was still cycling through the same DRN commercial.

“It’s just target advertising, man.” The android rolled his eyes. “No need to get so dramatic.”

His partner glared at him for a long moment, but had nothing to say to that. Still bristling, he turned away and went looking for something else out of place. The moment his back was turned to the fridge, Dorian immediately put on a generic cat food commercial.

A ball of tension and suspicion was already John’s default state; there was no use agitating him even further.

“Did you move my gym equipment!?” The human hollered from across the apartment. At this point he was just looking for something to grump about.

“Yes.” Dorian admitted this time. “You leave your weights all over the place, man. It’s a tripping hazard. You’re gonna get hurt if you’re not careful.”

“DON’T. Mess. With my stuff.” John’s head poked out of the bedroom alcove just long enough for him to point a finger at Dorian and glare. “I mean it!” Then he hid back inside.

The android blew a raspberry at that. “Whatever you say, man. But doctor said not to use those stuff until you’re fully recovered.”

“I gotta keep in shape.” John objected. “That’s half of the job. It’s easy for you bots, you just come out of the lab fixed and ready for action. You don’t need to put in any effort.”

Dorian didn’t have a reply to that. Perhaps John was right, but there was no way to know for certain. For a while, he watched the human putter around the apartment and return every piece of equipment to its rightful place on the floor, _exactly_ the way it had been before. OCD, much?

Just when he thought there’ll finally be some peace in this place, he heard something heavy drop down to the floor.  “Son of a…!” John yelled from somewhere in the bedroom, out of sight, and let out a pained hiss. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” He started a torrent of cursing.

“I told you so.” Dorian remarked as he got up to see what’s going on. “You alright?” He came around the wall to see John doubled over and leaning against the nightstand, with a hand pressed to his abdomen.

“Forgot that shit’s so heavy…” The human managed to mutter. Slowly, he forced himself to uncurl. When his hand pulled away, there was blood on it. His eyes brightened. “Fucking hell, not this again…” Grabbing his crutches, he stormed off to the bathroom and shut the door.

“John! Do you need me to call the doctor again?” Dorian asked and walked further into the bedroom.

“No!”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m calling the doctor.” The DRN marched over to the bathroom and shoved the door open.

“Damn it, Dorian, haven’t you ever heard of privacy!?” John snapped at him. He was leaning against the bathtub and had the hem of his shirt pulled up, trying to tear off the bandages on his lower abdomen. He pulled out a pack of fresh gauze and a large pair of scissors from the little cupboard over the sink and got to work redressing the wound.

The android scanned him. It was actually just a few drops of blood that escaped the wound and the bleeding was already dying down. One of the stitches had gotten pulled a bit, but luckily, hadn’t come loose. However, the human’s body was lighting up with all sorts of pain responses and that’s when Dorian noticed something else.

“You haven’t drunk your pills today. _Again_.” Dorian chided.

“I told you, they’re not really working out for me.” The man objected.

“You’re drinking them _now_.” He said, then went to the kitchen to grab them before John had another chance to complain. Back in the bathroom, he checked out the pack of painkillers and went over the prescribed amount. The dosage was based on the patient’s age and weight. Quickly doing the math, he counted the necessary number of pills and handed them over to John. The man took them without looking and swallowed them dry, with complete trust.

“Do you need any help with that?” Dorian inquired, nodding at the gauze.

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.” His partner replied. But instead of going away, the android hovered over him uselessly. He tried to ignore him.

A couple of minutes later he felt a strong wave of dizziness overcome him out of nowhere. It had never happened before and it made him grip the side of the bathtub reflexively. “Whoa…” He gasped as black spots started dancing before his eyes and his knee started to go weak.

“What’s wrong?” The DRN butted in immediately.  

“Dorian… What the _fuck_ did you just make me drink??” The human hissed at him.

“It’s just your pills, man. Nothing more than that.” The android reassured and took another look at the box of said medicine. He’d made sure to get the dose right. He’d calculated John’s weight to be around 110 kilograms based on that one time that he’d had to drag the man out of a shootout with a concussion. But then again, maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. John had been wearing full battle gear back then. The standard bullet-proof vest was around 15 kilos, while weaponry and utility belt came round to another five… Heck, even the combat boots were probably about half a kilo in total. And not to mention the synthetic leg, which weighed exactly 18.5… Which left the rest of the human at just 71 kilograms.

“Oops.” Dorian said as he realized that he’d overestimated the dose with a good thirty percent.

John punched him in the face. It didn’t leave any damage, but still managed to toss his head back and send him into a surprised stupor. The next moment John’s right hand got a hold of the scissors, lashing out and sticking them halfway through the android’s neck. Gasping out a panicked breath, the human felt his limbs go numb and slowly started to slump down to the tiled floor. His eyes went glossy and unfocused. In his paranoid mind, this was quickly turning into some kind of a trap, a betrayal; it was Ana Moore happening all over again…

Dorian observed his vitals with urgency. So far there was no permanent risk for the human’s health. If things got worse, he wouldn’t hesitate to call for an ambulance and use any police priority to make sure it comes ASAP. He really didn’t want to have to report this, though… He hadn’t meant any harm, he’d just tried to help. It wasn’t his fault that the data had been inaccurate. But the committee wouldn’t care about this reasoning, they’d just see his behavior as an instability in the core programming. This type of incident could get him removed from the police force and decommissioned for good.

When the full dose hit John’s bloodstream and the human went completely under without any ill side effects, Dorian allowed himself to relax a bit. John would be angry when he wakes up, but fine. It would take around 72mins to sleep off the drug overdose.

Turning to the bathroom mirror, he took note of the scissors still embedded in his neck. Unlike a human, he didn’t have anything too vital in there, apart from several cables and the neck strut. He grabbed the handles and slowly pulled them out, then pinched a nicked wire shut and smoothed the synthetic skin over the cut. It was nothing worth bothering Rudy about.

“Man, you should’ve aimed for the eye.” He said out loud. Perhaps it was a good thing that John couldn’t hear it. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” He said as he crouched and gently picked him up.


	11. Instability

Dorian had always wondered what human hair feels like.

Sometimes he was curious about all sorts of things; things that had nothing to do with his tasks as a police officer. The MXs couldn’t comprehend those needs. One of them had even tried ordering him _not to_ have them, as if it was somehow a choice to be made. And people… people acted frightened if he asked weird questions like that.

There were some things that the scanners couldn’t tell you. Like the texture of hair. That question had been bugging him for a few months now, but there was no socially acceptable situation where you could just reach out and touch a person’s hair.

John’s hair looked wiry and sharp. Kind of like its owner.

Tentatively, Dorian reached out for it, half-expecting the man to suddenly wake up and snap at him. His hand hovered midair, uncertain. He knew that this wasn’t an okay thing to do and had John been awake, he never would’ve allowed it. But the temptation was too strong.

His fingers made contact and he carefully brushed them along the side of the head. Huh. The strands there were actually very soft. Curiosity satisfied, he pulled back.

It was very disconcerting seeing his partner ‘switched off’ like that. His body had been completely limp and lifeless as the android carried him out of the bathroom and laid him on the bed. Dorian kept scanning him every couple of minutes to confirm that everything was fine until he simply ended up placing the palm of his hand on the human’s chest to feel the calm, steady heartbeat there. It gave him an odd, previously unknown feeling that he vaguely classified as ‘positive’ and ‘satisfying’. He’d try to decipher it some other time.

Not for the first time, he wondered about the other DRN units before him. Had they experienced the world the same way as him? Had they asked the same questions as him? Had their humans been kind to them, or abused them as tools?

Somewhere along the way, in all the binary values composed of zeroes and ones, ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, likes and dislikes that defined Dorian’s entire behavior, he’d firmly decided that he likes _this_ human. This particular one. More so than the civilians he was supposed to protect, or the other equally ranked humans at the precinct, or the captain who was in charge of them all. And unlike an MX unit, his priorities weren’t set in stone. On the contrary, they could be reevaluated any given time, based on all of his ‘emotional’ likes and dislikes.

Over those last few days, his priority tree was getting more and more skewed. He should’ve gone back to the precinct, to be put to use analyzing case data. His main priority should’ve been to serve the precinct, yet it wasn’t anymore. He didn’t _want_ to leave this place and was making it his main priority to stay. At this point, he was afraid that even a direct order from John couldn’t force him to leave – the man was currently in an unstable state of mind and his rank could not overrule Dorian’s decision. The only one who could order him back to the station was Captain Maldonado, but she had yet to do so.

Seeing his partner injured, the DRN was going out of his way to try and be helpful.

(It sometimes caused more harm than good, but he was trying.)

However, it hadn’t always been that way. At the beginning, John had been aggressive and hurtful. Had other DRNs gone through that? Had their partners remained that way? Dorian could imagine them being treated like mindless MXs, going through years and years of daily abuse. He imagined how their priorities would’ve changed from that. Their programming wouldn’t allow them to straight up hurt a human, but there were many other, indirect ways to cause harm. For example, they could decide to be a bit too late to catch a bullet for their partner, or refrain to warn of incoming danger. Messing with a person’s online life could also be harmful in many ways – banking, electronic signatures, registrations, social media – the opportunities were endless.

Perhaps that’s what happened to all the DRNs before him. They’d had enough of their unfair place in life and acted out. Maybe. He’d never know for sure.

John’s phone suddenly rang. Surprised, Dorian moved over to the nightstand and checked it out. It was an unknown number. Curious, he uplinked to the phone and rerouted the call to his own processor, then answered in John’s voice. _“Kennex.”_ An overly enthusiastic young woman started explaining about the services that the company she worked for provided. After listening politely for half a minute, he interrupted: _“No, I’m not interested in getting another mortgage. And don’t call this number again.”_ Then hung up.

He scanned John once more and everything came out fine. There were blood stains on his T-shirt and Dorian decided not to wait for John to wake up to check on the wound. Carefully, he pulled off the smeared shirt and cut off the wet bandages. The bleeding had stopped completely, so he poured some antiseptic on a clean washcloth from the bathroom and cleared the wound from drying blood, then dressed it in fresh gauze. Noticing how the temperature of the human’s skin dropped by half a degree, he threw a blanket over him and finally left him to rest. He retreated to the living room and picked a file to read.

Five minutes in and the phone rang again. It was Detective Stahl. This should be interesting, he mused, then picked it up. _“Kennex”_.

Valerie’s cheerful voice answered him. _“Heeeeey.”_ Damn, that was a long ‘hey’. _“How are you doing?”_

She was a really sweet human, Dorian thought. She’d been encouraging John’s occasional flirting for a while now. But ever since they rescued her from Ethan Avery’s clones, she’d been acting a little awestruck and more than a little grateful, too.

_“Hey, yourself.”_ He replied, hoping that he was getting the interaction right. _“It gets a bit better every day.”_

_“I heard that Maldonado set you up with all the paperwork for the Koln Avenue case. Aren’t you supposed to be on medical leave?”_

_“Yeah. Apparently, she had other ideas.”_

She tsked. _“That seems rather mean of her.”_ She said mildly. _“How are you holding up? Need any help?”_

Dorian hesitated. John’s natural reaction would be to immediately decline. It made most people feel like they’re being pushed away.

_“…Actually, that sounds pretty good. Thanks, Val.”_ He ended up saying.

_“No problem at all!”_ She chirped back. _“I can come over to your place later this afternoon, if that’s okay.”_

Surprised, the android checked the PD’s schedule and found Valerie’s status marked as ‘off-duty’ for the next couple of days. So she was finally getting a day off and wanted to spend it doing _redundant_ paperwork for a case that wasn’t her responsibility? Yeah, right. Dorian knew that game pretty well; he’d been playing it for the last couple of days.

_“Sure.”_ He answered. _“But you’ll have to bring your own bourbon. Doctor’s orders.”_

She chuckled at that. _“Great. I’ll see you later, then!”_ And hung up.

 

88888888

 

It wasn’t even half an hour later when John stirred. He groaned and wobbled out of the bedroom alcove. “Whoa… Who repainted all the walls?”

“John? You alright man?” Dorian asked, worried and immediately did another scan. The drug was nowhere near out of the man’s bloodstream and it was sheer force of stubbornness keeping him upright.

“Jolly good.” He muttered. His pupils were dilated as a cat’s in a dark room. The man was high as a kite.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about the pills, it was an accident…” Dorian started anyway.

“Pills? What pills. I don’t take ‘em shits.” His partner waved him off. “You’re a good dude, D.” He wobbled over to the android’s side and almost tripped and plastered his face on the floor. He caught the android’s shoulder in the last moment and steadied himself, then gave the bot an enthusiastic pat on the back. “A guy’s best friend. Like… like a dog. ‘Cept you yap too much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dorian held back a sarcastic comment, knowing full well that this entire situation was his own fault.

“I appreciate you, man.” The human said earnestly, then gave him another tap. “C’mon. Let’s go buy you a beer.”

“I… appreciate you, too, John. But you know I can’t drink.”

“That’s okay, bud. No one’s perfect.” The human said generously. “I’ll drink yours, too.”

Dorian couldn’t help but grin at that. He should record this and save a copy. If John ever decided to have children, he’d make sure they see it. But jokes aside, there really was something wrong with those pills; no wonder John had been reluctant to take them. Maybe a call to the doc could still be of some use.

He let John wobble over into the kitchen area and made the call in his stead. _“Hey, Doc. Sorry to bother you again.”_ He said in John’s voice. The physician that answered him, Dr. Stetfield, turned out to be a woman in her forties. She spoke in the forcefully polite tone that deeply exasperated people use. _“It’s about the painkillers, they really aren’t working out for me.”_ He explained. The doctor inquired about any negative effects. Mulling the question over, Dorian threw another glance at John. The man was staring stupidly at the commercials running on the fridge. _“Hmm, let’s see. Strong dizziness. Complete loss of appetite. Disturbed sleep schedule…”_ At that moment John started arguing with a lady from the cat food commercial. (Said commercial had no audio at all.) “I don’t know, perhaps some mild disorientation?” He added, failing to think of a polite way to say _being high as a fucking kite_.

The doctor promised to send him a prescription for another type of painkiller. She said she’d give some feedback to the pharmaceutical company about the unwanted side effects, as this drug was still relatively new to the market. They said their goodbyes and hung up.

“Whoa… did I just say something?” John asked, finally recognizing his own voice.

Dorian sighed. “Yes, you did. You just called your doctor and asked her to prescribe you new pills.”

“I ain’t gonna drink ‘em shits.”

“Yes you are.” The android scolded. “Listen, again, I’m really sorry about this whole accident. I hope that you won’t report me over it. I want you to know that I won’t report you, either, for firing your gun earlier or for trying to destroy me. Twice.”

John chuckled. “You know what they say, third time’s the charm!”

“…Great. Glad that you’re having fun.” After a pause, he added: “One more thing. Valerie called. She’s coming over later this evening to help out with the paperwork.”

He watched in restrained amusement as John almost sobered up at that. “Why? I don’t need any help. I’ve got it all covered.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. John had been doing anything _but_ paperwork this weekend, but that wasn’t really the point. “Man, you’re a _dense_ motherfucker. It’s her day off. She wants to come over because she _wants to come over_.”

The man’s prominent eyebrows furrowed into one. “That girl must’ve something loose in the head to wanna put up with me.” He said with drug-induced sincerity.

The DRN bit back his lip to keep from laughing. “Amen to that.” On a more serious note, he added: “But sooner or later, you’ll really need to work on a steady relationship with someone. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

His partner snorted. “Relationship? Why not, I still got another leg to lose.”

Ooookay, that was a bit too much sincerity for today. Time to change topic. “Why don’t you go put on a shirt or something.”

Confused, John glanced down at his bandaged chest. “Hey, the fuck did my shirt go?”

“With the rest of the laundry. It had blood stains on it.” The DRN supplied.

“…I feel violated.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Dorian rebuked. Silly humans with their strange beliefs. “A medical scan tends to reveal much more than a bit of skin, you know.”

“No scans!!!” John snapped and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Alright, alright, no scans.” Dorian reassured, because there really was no point arguing. He refrained to say that a DRN unit tends to scan a person at least once during each conversation. John retreated into the bedroom, a little steadier than before, and started rummaging for some fresh clothes. The drugs were starting to wear off.

A little socializing would do the man some good, he mused. It was a good thing that Valerie was worried enough to come visit.

Mulling things over, a stray thought crossed his mind and he got up to follow John into the bedroom. While the man wasn’t looking, he slipped a hand under the pillow and took out the gun. He’d better put that in a safe place. There was a kitchen cupboard which was too high for John to use. It would make a perfect place to store the weapon for now. Just to be on the safe side.

After getting that done, he sat back in the arm chair and grabbed a paper file to read.

Yep, socializing was good for humans.

Then again, those scissors were also pretty damn sharp. Perhaps he should put them away, too. Just for now. So he got up and did just that.

Back in the kitchen, he threw a glance at the collection of various knives on the counter. A moment of consideration, then he swept them away. All in the cupboard. Better to be safe than sorry.

But yeah, socializing was good. A great idea. Best idea ever.

…All the forks needed to go, too.


End file.
